


Dare to Bask

by proprioception



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Celestial Transformation, Drunken Confessions, First Time, M/M, Metaphysical Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25659637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proprioception/pseuds/proprioception
Summary: “You knew it wasn’t ‘licking arse,’” Crowley accused without preamble somewhere between his third and fourth glass of wine. “You knew bloody well.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 266
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	Dare to Bask

**Author's Note:**

> title from candlelight by relient k. finally, a fandom use for my christian upbringing lmao

“You knew it wasn’t ‘licking arse,’” Crowley accused without preamble somewhere between his third and fourth glass of wine. “You knew bloody well.”

Aziraphale, who had been happily speculating on the origin of one of the mysterious new sets of books in the shop, blinked innocently. “Sorry?”

“On the air base, you—and about that dress, Satan _below—_ ”

“What was wrong with the dress?” Aziraphale protested. “I thought you said you liked it.”

“I said it suited you,” Crowley corrected. “And fuck me if that doesn’t sort of make me like it,” he muttered under his breath, then cranked back up to full volume, “but it was _awful_. Objectively speaking.”

Aziraphale tilted his head and smiled, endeared. “You really are no good at all at being a demon.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Crowley said, all steam and no hot water. “Like you and your arse-licking self are any better at being _ineffable_.”

Aziraphale gave a delighted laugh. “Oh, when I said we were there to lick some butt? That’s called a joke, my dear boy.”

“Good one, then,” Crowley drawled, draining his glass of wine. “When did an Angel of the Lord learn about rimming?”

“Early 2000s, I do believe,” Aziraphale said serenely.

Crowley looked sharply at his companion, aghast. “ _What?_ ”

“B.C.,” Aziraphale added. If Crowley didn’t know better, he’d say the angel looked smug.

“I thought we came up with that one,” Crowley grumbled. “But I didn’t start... _proselytizing_ till Ancient Greece.”

“No, humans have always been perfectly brilliant at dreaming up new ways to pleasure each other and themselves,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“You sound like you admire them for it,” Crowley teased.

“Oh, I do,” Aziraphale nodded. “Food and sex. They’ve quite outdone us all in both regards.”

Crowley didn’t say anything for long enough that Aziraphale looked over at him, and, seeing that he looked mortally constipated, put a hand on his knee. “Are you alright, Crowley?”

“Are you saying you’ve been having sex for six millenia right under Her nose?”

Aziraphale frowned. “I mean, it took me a while to warm up to the idea, so probably not all six thousand years, but—whatever do you mean, under Her nose?”

Crowley’s eyebrows were well entrenched in his hairline. “Aren’t you supposed to be— _celibate_?” he spat the word with all the contempt he’d always had for the idea.

Aziraphale looked like he might giggle, but saw something in Crowley’s expression that made him think better of it. “Where in God’s name did you get that idea?”

Crowley’s brain was short circuiting in approximately eight different places. Images of Aziraphale engaged in the sluttiest activities of every age, including but not limited to eating arse, were derailing Crowley’s train of thought quite spectacularly. Something about knowing Aziraphale had actually probably done these things lent the fantasies (which were not entirely new) a new potency, and Crowley found that he’d made the effort of an erection without deciding to.

“The Bible?” Crowley sputtered belatedly, ignoring the hint his seemingly increasingly human body was giving him. “All that drivel about ‘sexual immorality’?”

Aziraphale gave Crowley an unimpressed look. “Taking ‘sexual immorality’ to mean _all_ sex is even more ludicrous than interpreting it as _gay_ sex.” He flapped his hand dismissively. “And anyway, I don’t think even _She_ knew exactly what She meant by that. It’s all so vague. I rather think She was covering Her arse, if you’ll pardon the expression.” He shrugged eloquently. “Bodies are sacred, and all that; I respect mine and I respect my partners’.” He was even smiling a little at this, as if awash in fond memories.

“Was that a plural ‘partners’?” Crowley croaked.

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said, frowning. “Are you alright, Crowley?”

“No!” Crowley hissed, suddenly irrationally furious. “I’m not! My crush has been eating other people’s arses for six thousand years while I wanked in mostly solitary misery.”

“Your what?” Aziraphale said stupidly.

Crowley’s face went hot. It was very unpleasant to be on the receiving end of feelings he frequently inflicted upon humans who had pissed him off. Why in the fucking hell had he said that out loud?

“Crowley, I—”

“Ignore me,” Crowley groused. “I’m drunk.”

“Yes, I was about to suggest—I think we ought to sober up for this.”

“Fine,” Crowley said, utterly certain that nothing could make the situation worse—not even sobriety, which was saying something. He shook his head and yawned to pop his ears as his brain unfogged. “I’m better at that,” he muttered.

“Then you should have done it,” Aziraphale snapped. There was a pause, then, “I apologize, I wasn’t done yet.”

Crowley refused to initiate this clusterfuck of a conversation; he’d already said all he had to. He crossed his arms and stared sullenly at the new set of books that was currently Aziraphale’s favorite, and tried not to accidentally set them on fire.

“What’s this about—a crush?” Aziraphale asked gently. He’d turned to face Crowley like the good, attentive, gentle friend he was, and Crowley’s chest ached.

“It’s not a crush,” Crowley said after a bit. “I’m head over fucking heels.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s breath stopped. It wasn’t like he’d had any real hope in the first place, but—Satan damn it, it didn’t feel good to hear.

“Isn’t it?” Crowley glared out the window.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, sounding almost put out. “You’ve gone and wasted at least four millennia by being your emotionally constipated self.”

“Sorry, what,” Crowley said. It barely felt like it was coming out of his mouth, let alone a question, but Aziraphale, bless him, answered.

“I said, you’ve wasted four thousand fucking years,” Aziraphale said calmly, and Crowley finally looked over at him. Aziraphale had on his “I’d like to speak to the manager” smile: polite and threatening.

“It took you two thousand years to like me?” was all Crowley could think to say.

Aziraphale laughed, and the tension left Crowley’s body in a rush, leaving him dizzy and feeling just as inebriated as before Aziraphale miracled away the wine drunk.

Aziraphale snapped and the antisocial wooden chairs they were sitting in became the kind of sunken loveseat that hung a field of gravity between the occupants. Crowley, to his combined horror and endearment, felt butterflies erupt in his stomach as Aziraphale turned and touched his face.

“I would say it took about five hundred to like you, and then another thousand to love you. Another five hundred to stop lying to myself about it.”

“Why couldn’t you have stopped lying to _me_ about it then?” Crowley whined.

“I thought you weren’t interested,” Aziraphale confessed. “I didn’t want to—make things more complicated.”

“Idiot,” Crowley said, and kissed him.

Kissing Aziraphale was Crowley’s new favorite activity. He’d almost been sorry to shut his stupid angel up, but Aziraphale was still very much Aziraphale whether or not he had verbal communication at his disposal. He let Crowley in immediately, warm and open, and Crowley took the opening, licking into his mouth with a very satisfied hum. Aziraphale curled a hand around Crowley’s neck and then pulled his hair a little to tweak the angle, and fuck, it got better. Crowley pulled back, panting, and climbed into Aziraphale’s lap. He’d forgotten about his _effort_ , but when his weight settled across Aziraphale’s thighs, it was clear he’d made one as well.

“Is a demon’s body sacred?” he asked breathlessly, equal parts flippant and curious.

“It’s a body, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said, to Crowley’s satisfaction equally breathless and pink across the cheeks.

Crowley leaned in for more kisses, burying his hands in Aziraphale’s fluffy blond hair. “This always looked so soft,” he whined into his mouth. “You always looked so soft.” He wanted to kiss Aziraphale for the rest of their lives, mortal or not (he wasn’t honestly sure anymore what they were), but he couldn’t stop talking, now that he’d started. He settled back on Aziraphale’s thighs, which were delightfully cushioned against his own bony ass, and ground his hips forward so that he could feel Aziraphale’s hot, solid erection against his. “ _Fuck_ , that feels good,” he managed.

“It is worth the effort, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked cheekily.

“Bloody hell, angel,” Crowley laughed breathlessly. “You know, I can’t help but think an angel liking sex is a bit kinky.”

“What about a demon liking an angel?”

“I think kinky is a compliment for a demon. I rather don’t think loving an angel would be commended downstairs. Jesus fucking Christ, Aziraphale,” he nearly sobbed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had loads of sex; he’d even had plenty of good sex.

But none of it had been with Aziraphale. This was already a completely different experience, and they hadn’t even started.

Crowley slid his hands down Aziraphale’s chest, and his excessive layers of clothing fell open as his hands passed over them. Crowley looked down at him in awe, loving every single inch of him as soon as he saw it. He leaned down to bite into Aziraphale’s collarbone, and the angel gave a gratifying yelp and jerked under him.

“I hope you know I like to leave marks,” Crowley growled, latching onto where the angel’s shoulder met his neck and dragging the flesh through his teeth.

“I hope you know I’ll—return the favor,” Aziraphale shot back, but a gasp in the middle of the sentence ruined the bravado of it. Crowley tilted Aziraphale’s head and licked the side of his throat contemplatively. He could hear the angel’s breath, loud and unsteady, and he loved it. He started on a hickey, only to gasp loudly when a warm hand closed around his dick. 

“Don’t stop,” Aziraphale admonished, almost sounding calm. 

“Christ, what’d you expect me to do?” Crowley complained cheerfully.

“I expect you to be good,” Aziraphale said sternly, and there was an edge to his voice that told Crowley he was not talking about good-versus-evil good. 

“Shit,” was all Crowley could say to this development. His hips jerked up into Aziraphale’s grasp and he moaned. “You have got to be shitting me,” he groaned. 

“What is it, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, smirking. 

“You’ve been a fucking top this whole time. Haven’t you?”

Aziraphale’s grin took on an apologetic shade. “I’m afraid so, love,” he said. “There are exceptions, of course, but for you? Definitely.” 

“Fuck, okay,” Crowley managed. He didn’t know what to think about his angel, who knew him better than anyone, coming to the opposite conclusion from most of the human men he’d slept with.

Aziraphale’s hand on Crowley didn’t hesitate, but a line appeared between his eyebrows. “That is, I mean, I don’t have to be—”

“No,” Crowley assured him, his breath coming in open-mouthed gasps as his hips matched Aziraphale’s movements. “No, that’s fucking excellent. Fuck.”

Aziraphale relaxed and stroked Crowley off with slightly more vigor. Crowley’s eyes rolled back into his head. He wasn’t totally sure he hadn’t just suddenly developed the capacity to dream, or accidentally ingested a fatal dose of some hallucinogen or other. But holy fuck, was he going to enjoy it. Either that, or the emotional impact of… _this_ was going to ruin him.

“Shit, angel,” Crowley moaned. “I’m gonna come.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said, with just enough impatience to sound bossy, and Crowley threw his head back and striped Aziraphale’s chest and open shirt with come. 

When Crowley became aware of his surroundings once again, his wings were spread wide and quivering. He felt like he could feel the slightly different resonant frequency of every single feather. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale breathed in awe, petting down Crowley’s chest and down his thigh. 

“Christ,” Crowley rasped, his wings drooping but refusing to fold conveniently back out of this dimension. He slumped forward into Aziraphale’s embrace, burying his nose in the angel’s lovely spun-gold hair.

Aziraphale didn’t even reprimand him. He curled his arms around Crowley’s waist and gently combed his fingers through his secondaries.

Crowley let out a very undignified noise. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Aziraphale whispered softly into his ear. And before Crowley could even collect himself enough to emphatically confirm that he did want that, he elaborated. “Do you want me to lick you open? I have four thousand years of experience, you know,” he said, and Crowley could hear the effort that went into not giggling. “Do you want me to lay you out on the bed and bury my nose in your scapulars? Pull that lovely hair? Do you—”

“All nine circles of _hell_ , yes,” Crowley moaned, unable to wait any longer. “Take me to bed, angel.”

Aziraphale enveloped him in a flurry of white feathers and glowing honey-colored eyes, and Crowley had just enough time to decide he would quite happily spend the rest of his existence here before the curtains of Aziraphale’s wings parted and Crowley tumbled backwards into a huge bed that was almost as soft. Okay, it wasn’t even close, but Aziraphale’s wings were not a reasonable point of comparison.

Aziraphale was all over him, feathertips and hands and at least three mouths exploring his body—one using teeth and one using tongue. Crowley’s eyes rolled back at the barrage of utterly pleasant sensations and he wondered at how erotic it was considering the complete and total absence of pain. Almost all of his dalliances with humans had been harsh, abrading affairs, to the point that Crowley thought that was what he liked.

Aziraphale sensed Crowley doing too much _thinking_ , and pulled back to brush noses with him. His celestial form faded when Crowley focused his eyes, which he regretted doing. “What’s the matter, darling?” he asked.

Crowley shook his head, dazed. “There is absolutely no matter, angel.” He leaned up for a kiss, and Aziraphale answered his unspoken prayer, humming when Crowley got impatient and bit his tongue.

“Oh, is that it?” Aziraphale asked curiously. “Pain?” He dug his fingers, which were suddenly archangelic talons, into Crowley’s sides, and Crowley gasped. Aziraphale could do no wrong, and apparently that applied to Crowley’s sexual appetites.

“Oh, fuck!” Aziraphale huffed, sounding surprised but not upset. Crowley, who had flung his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and was scratching petulantly for _more_ , realized he had matched Aziraphale’s partial transformation. At this rate, they were going to blind and deafen the whole block of poor mortal bastards. Crowley made a conscious effort not to sprout eyes all over his body because frankly, he was nearing sensory overload already with only the one pair. There also just wasn’t _room_ for four more wings on either of them.

“Open your eyes, love,” Aziraphale told him, a soft and gentle commandment. Crowley obeyed happily, for once in his life, and gasped as the light honed his pupils to razor edges. Aziraphale was resplendent, glowing brighter than the sun, so bright Crowley didn’t know why he wasn’t sizzling and curling like paper under a magnifying glass. “Beautiful,” Aziraphale murmured, and kissed him.

Crowley gasped when a tongue dragged up his inner thigh. He hadn’t even realized Aziraphale had teased him out of his clothes. Maybe he hadn’t, and considered this an occasion worth cheating for. Aziraphale chuckled and gave Crowley a parting kiss before moving down his body. He reached for Crowley’s nipple and after glancing up at the demon with a playful smile, turned his talons back into fingers.

Crowley gave a rattled laugh. “I mean, I have been thinking about getting them pierced.”

Aziraphale licked his lips, looking very interested in that idea, but he just tweaked Crowley’s nipples once and let his mouth wander down to his cock, which was soft more because Crowley had forgotten about it than because he wasn’t aroused. He was too wrapped up in the ineffability of the sensations all over his body to want for anything, but not far from a little more goal-orientation if Aziraphale kept it up. Aziraphale nuzzled the soft skin and kissed his thighs.

Crowley buried his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair but couldn’t bring himself to pull. “Stop pussyfooting around,” he pleaded.

Aziraphale grinned cheekily. “You would need to… reconfigure for me to truly pussyfoot.”

Crowley sputtered something about not being into feet, but then Aziraphale put his nose to the grindstone, as it were, and he soon lost the ability to speak anything but the primordial roar he had come into existence knowing.

Crowley didn’t so much lose consciousness as change modes of consciousness. His mortal form was an abbreviation, a shorthand, and there were things that it couldn’t do. Couldn’t feel. Couldn’t understand. Aziraphale was _cheating_ , somehow. Either that, or he was much more used to straddling dimensions than Crowley, and much better at picking his favorite parts of each one.

The advantage of the mortal realm right now, of course, was time. In this dimension, Crowley was acutely aware of each second he passed completely incapacitated by pleasure. The minutes he spent thrashing on that bed lasted longer than any meaningless segment of eternity.

But only so much of AZIRAPHALE, the being in all its glory that had existed since the beginning, could exist in this dimension. Only so much that Crowley couched in his blood-and-bone form could perceive. So when caught between the rock of time and the hard place of Aziraphale’s literally divine tongue, Crowley splintered. He didn’t even realize it until when he settled back into his mortal form, in place of memories, he found the overexposed afterimages of scintillating more-than-sensations burned into his mind.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Aziraphale,” Crowley said. He wasn’t sure if he had regained mortal language or not. He knew Aziraphale would understand.

Aziraphale smiled beatifically. “I will admit, it is gratifying to demonstrate my—er, _unrestrained_ talents.” He licked come from Crowley’s stomach, and Crowley was distantly flabbergasted that any part of him had remained present enough to ensure consistency between his physical form and whatever had just happened to his greater self. “That would just as likely have killed a mortal as given them an orgasm.”

Crowley gave a hysterical giggle. He felt raw, exposed like a wire that had only to be touched to its mate for electricity to scorch through it. “What makes you think you haven’t killed me?”

Aziraphale crawled up his body and kissed him softly. “You’re still here for me to fuck.”

Crowley mewled into his mouth, and Aziraphale held his face in his hands and tried and failed not to smile as he kissed him some more. “Demon,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he’d called him that with such tenderness. Usually that particular nickname was paired with fond exasperation. “Turn over for me?”

Crowley rolled over without complaint, though he had to clumsily wrestle his wing out from under himself. He buried his blushing face in the pillow.

“Crowley, dear, you’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale murmured, pressing his body against Crowley’s. Crowley whimpered at the feeling of his soft mouth at the back of his neck, and his gentle fingers in his hair, and his hard cock against his ass, and rubbed back up against him like the unhinged fucking hedonist that Aziraphale had turned him into with his fucking otherworldly arse licking.

“Please,” Crowley murmured. “Please, Aziraphale, please fucking fuck me, please.”

“So polite,” Aziraphale purred in his ear, and Crowley shivered violently at the smugness in his tone. His hands slid down Crowley’s arms and circled his wrists. Crowley stopped breathing. Aziraphale kissed each palm with disembodied mouths and pressed Crowley’s hands into the mattress beside his head. His knees nudged Crowley’s shaking thighs apart.

Crowley stayed present when Aziraphale pushed into him, for which he was profoundly grateful. As delightful as it was to sift through the overdone memories of coming untouched on Aziraphale’s mouth, he wanted to remember this in all its scintillating glory with sharp clarity for the rest of his goddamn life.

Aziraphale started to fuck him, slow and deliberate and torturous and heavenly. Crowley couldn’t move, except for the constant shake in his limbs and the unsteady pant jarring his chest. Couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t want to. His body wouldn’t listen to him even if he could have convinced any part of it to defy Aziraphale in this moment, which was itself so far out of the realm of possibility it was confusing rather than hilarious.

Aziraphale’s breath stuttered against his shoulder. “Alright there, angel?” Crowley asked, but he was too fucking besotted to properly tease him. Aziraphale huffed a breathless laugh, and Crowley realized he was crying when a smile squeezed tears out of his eyes.

Strange. Bodies did things of their own accord all the time, but crying was not one of the insubordinations Crowley’s had historically dealt him. He didn’t feel sad or angry or—

Aziraphale buried his hand in Crowley’s hair, which had at some point during their throes grown out into something resembling a mane, and gathered him into a kiss. Crowley sobbed, an abrupt seizure of his chest that felt like a tiny bit of air being let out of a balloon before a leak was patched. Or before the balloon popped. Aziraphale took care of him and took him apart. Licked into his mouth and kissed his neck and bit his shoulder. Crowley knotted his fists in the sheets and smeared tears on the pillow and ground his dick into the mattress.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered hoarsely. “Please.”

Aziraphale brushed his hair aside from his neck and kissed his ear. “Please what, dear one?”

Crowley wanted to kick his feet like a thrashing toddler. “ _Please_ fuck me. I want to come and I want you to do it while you fuck me really _fucking_ hard.”

Aziraphale retreated, and Crowley whimpered in weak protest as his body heat dissipated and his cock slid out of him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, sounding almost exasperated despite the smile in his voice. “I just need you to turn over, sweetheart.”

Crowley heaved a sigh of relief and let Aziraphale do most of the work to roll his useless mortal coil over. Aziraphale smiled, his eyes crinkling and his lips bright and shiny, and Crowley kissed him again. He couldn’t stop.

Aziraphale tucked Crowley’s legs up between them and pushed roughly back into him. If Crowley hadn’t already been folded in fucking half, he would have doubled over at the intensity of it. 

“Your—you bloody sadist, you’re bigger,” he hissed. Aziraphale only smirked, albeit fondly. “You only turned me over so you could watch that,” he realized a second later. “Absolute bastard. You’ve always been awfully vengeful for an angel, you know.”

Aziraphale very effectively shut him up by pulling out and driving his hips deep into Crowley in one quick, arresting motion. Aziraphale started to fuck him really fucking hard, and Crowley could do nothing but wail himself hoarse.

Both of them were too wound up for it to last much longer after that. Aziraphale, at least, had waited four thousand years for this orgasm, and Crowley didn’t feel like the two he’d already had really accounted for much of that time.

Both of them crackled with energy the few seconds before they came together, like the tingle before a lightning strike. Then Aziraphale plunged one last time into Crowley and the dam broke. 

Crowley felt like he’d been thrown back to the moment of creation. He remembered the first seconds of time feeling like they had lasted forever. It took an eon for Crowley to crest the edge of orgasm, and his electrified, pulsing ecstasy lasted for at least three more. He could feel Aziraphale vibrating, could tell he was matching Crowley throe for throe, and it just made him come harder.

When Crowley came back to himself, they were in the dark. He was sure there had been an accompanying electrical event of some kind. The darkness wasn’t a problem, at least for Crowley, but he could hear shouts of indignation from neighbors. If only they knew that the cause of their problem _and_ the powers that be could hear them. 

Aziraphale chuckled, and Crowley also realized that the bed under them was collapsing onto the ground and smoking slightly. Crowley winced.

Aziraphale couldn’t be fucked, and just laid his fluffy head on Crowley’s heaving chest. “For once, let the mortals sort it out,” he sighed happily. “I’m sure they’ll manage quite nicely.”


End file.
